


One More Night

by detritius



Series: Wincestverse (Originally posted on tumblr) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Dream Sex, Implied/Referenced Incest, Light Bondage, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5744164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detritius/pseuds/detritius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first night he shares a room with Sam after Stanford, Dean has a loud, embarrassing sex dream. Old-fashioned PWP set sometime during the pilot, all smut, no plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Night

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I am working on the follow-up to Tawdry Dreams All Come to Life, it's just gotten completely out of control. It's already longer than the first one, I don't know, it might have to be a series or something. In the meantime, here's something from my back catalogue I could've sworn I posted here ages ago.
> 
> Title is from a song of the same name by Stars.

Of course, the first night he shares a room with Sam after they’ve been separated so long, he has to have a loud, embarrassing sex dream. It’s not like this is a common thing for him, either - he’s twenty-six, for God’s sake, and he should have better control of himself. But somehow, that first night with Sam lying in the next bed, something in him lets go, and he dreams like he hasn’t since he was in his teens.

 

He’s standing in Sam’s room at Stanford, late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the curtains. He can feel someone watching him, but when he turns away from the window, there’s no one there. “Hello?” he asks, his hand dropping to the butt of his gun.

  
“Hey, Dean.” He whirls around, and there’s Sam’s girlfriend, sprawled out on the bed, wearing nothing but a lacy little thong and a coy smile.

  
“Uh, Jess, hey,” he stutters. He can’t take his eyes off her, and she knows it. Slowly, she trails one hand over her flat stomach and up, circling a nipple with one finger. He’s standing there with his mouth hanging open, and she doesn’t even look up at him as she licks the tip of one finger, then another, and goes back to teasing herself.

  
“I’ve heard all about you, you know,” she says idly, rolling her nipple between her spit-wet fingers. “Your family and your monster-hunting business.” She glances up at him through her lashes and her smirk widens. “Sounds exciting.” She’s holding his gaze now, and her free hand is toying invitingly with the string side of her panties.

  
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, it is.” Something’s been bothering him, and even though he doesn’t want to think about it, he hears himself blurt out, “Where’s Sam?”

  
“Worried about your baby brother?” she asks. “That’s really sweet. He won’t mind, I promise.”

  
His mouth is dry, and he swallows. “You sure?” he asks.

  
“Mmhmm. Sammy’s a good sport.” In one movement, she slides her panties down and kicks them off onto the floor. In the yellow light, she almost glows. “What are you waiting for?” she asks.

  
He crosses to the bed in two long strides, and she giggles as he lands on top of her. Her naked body fits so well between his jeans-clad thighs, and God, he’s hard already. He leans down to kiss her, and she tangles her hands in his hair and he can feel her nails against his scalp as she pulls his lip between her teeth and sucks hard. He groans and she kisses him deep, exploring his mouth. “He tastes like you,” she whispers.

  
He doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, doesn’t much care as he mouths his way down her neck to her chest. She lets out a shuddery little sigh as he lets his hot breath play across her hard, pink nipples, and outright moans when he sucks one into his mouth. He lets out a groan at the delicate taste of her skin, laving over it with his tongue, hungry, greedy, and he feels her hand on the back of his neck, holding him down, making him take more. He grazes her with his teeth and she cries out, and from the rhythmic movements that start up under him, he can tell she’s going to work on herself. He pulls off her and gently moves her hand away, laying it flat on his stomach instead, just over his belt buckle. “Hey, babe,” he says, “don’t get started without me.” He can feel her slipping his pants open as he leans down for another kiss.

  
Pants down around his knees, he’s kneeling over her, tonguing her slowly, and she throws her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He lifts her partway off the bed, supporting her weight, and she wraps her legs around him, the sweet friction as she rolls her hips sending white hot fire racing up and down his spine until he can’t keep hold of her anymore. He lays her back down, and all but collapses on top of her, his hands everywhere at once. She takes control of the kiss again, coaxing him into her mouth, as he caresses her small, soft breasts, making her gasp and moan into him. She drags her nails down his back, tearing his shirt like tissue paper, and then he’s naked too and she’s begging for more. He grabs her ass and grinds them together, moaning as his dick slides along the curve of her thigh. He reaches down, ready to work her open, but she slaps his hand away. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m ready.”

  
She flips him effortlessly, and he’s flat on his back on the mattress, panting, the wind knocked out of him as she straddles his chest, pulls his wrists out straight and ties them to the headboard. “You like it rough, baby?” he asks, breathless.

  
“You’ll be able to move when you need to,” she says cryptically, moving down his body and positioning herself over him.

  
“What?” he asks, but then she thrusts her hips down and his eyes roll back in his head. It’s tight and hot and he’s gasping, his body shaking in his bonds. She’s riding him fast and shallow, and he pulls hard at the ropes, wanting to grab her by the waist and guide her all the way down, make her take him deeper, but his shoulders are knotting up and he can’t free his hands. She’s still smirking at him, her eyes open, and then she slows down, and it’s enough to drive him crazy. She leans down over him, filling his whole line of vision, kisses the side of his face, his neck, panting hot breaths in his ear. Suddenly, she goes tense and stops moving entirely. Ignoring his moan of protest, she grips his biceps tight, and, gasping, bites down on his shoulder.

  
That’s when he feels it - something against his dick. Just pressure at first, then heat, the rough shape of a fingernail, a knuckle. One finger, and then another. “Jess,” he demands, pulling at the ropes again, “what’s going on?”

  
She doesn’t answer, just cries out as the fingers stretch and flex, a pained, helpless, turned-on sound, then a whimper as they’re withdrawn. He looks into her face, knotted up with concentration, and then her hands are clamped down on his wrists and she’s biting her lip, bracing herself. He feels something thicker, something hotter, sliding against him, slippery with lube. There’s another heartbeat pulsing against him, sending shivers down his spine, and then he feels the head of someone else’s cock dragging against him, pushing into Jess inch by inch. Her eyes are closed and she’s moaning high and tight, shaking a little. He wants to reach up, hold her steady, comfort her somehow, but he can’t move his hands. “It’s okay,” he whispers instead. “It’s okay.” He barely gets the words out. The hot, slick sensation against his dick has him gasping.

  
The other man stops moving, settled as deep as Dean is, deeper, and pressed up against him the whole way, the heat around them suffocating. They’re all still, and he picks up on three sets of ragged breathing. Eventually, Jess lets go of his wrists and straitens up, not shaking so badly now. He can see a pair of tanned, familiar hands gripping her waist, holding her up as she throws her head back, shifting her hips ever so slightly. “Oh,” she moans. “Oh, Sam!”

  
“Sammy?” he gasps. He doesn’t believe it. He can’t. He doesn’t think his heart can take it.

  
But there he is behind his girlfriend, turning her face and kissing her softly. “You okay?” he asks.

  
“Yeah,” she pants. “It’s good, Sam, it’s just... it’s so much.”

  
“I know,” he says. “You’re doing great.” And then Sam looks down into his face, and God, he can’t believe this is happening. “How you feelin’, Dean?”

  
He just shakes his head, dazed. All he can think of is Sam’s dick pressed tight to his. He can feel every inch of him, every vein, every ridge, like it’s branded into his own skin. And he’s waiting. It has to hit him eventually - that this is his brother, his Sammy, slicked up and ready, straining hard and needy against him. It should make him sick, but he’s more relieved than anything that it’s Sam and not someone else. It’s just another level of trust between them. Nothing wrong with that. “Sam,” he whispers, too breathless for anything else.

  
“It’s all right,” Sam says, and he sounds winded too. “God, Dean, I wish you knew how good you feel.” Sam twitches against him, and he moans, a hot agony of arousal pulsing through every vein in his body.

  
“Sam...” he pants, “gonna come.”

  
Sam strokes lightly down his side, his powerful hand so gentle. “Not yet,” he says. “You’ll come when I say you can come.” Then he turns to Jess and asks, “You ready?” She nods once, and then Dean’s seeing stars.

  
Sam’s moving, and the hot drag of fiction is almost too much for him. He bites out a curse and his hands fist up in his bonds, and he’s digging his nails into his palms to keep from screaming. Above him, Jess is gasping and Sam is panting, thrusting smoothly into her, claiming her with his big hands, and damn if this isn’t just as hot as any porn he’s ever seen. Then, out of nowhere, Sam slaps him hard on the thigh. “I didn’t bring you in on this so you could just lie there. I know you can do better than that,” he growls. “Come on, Dean, fuck her!”

  
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He thrusts up, feeling Sam the whole way, feeling Jess shudder with gratification. It’s tighter than anything he’s ever felt, and he can barely move, but when Sam grunts out, “Harder!” he finds some way to oblige. He slams his hips up, and Jess screams loud enough to shatter the windows, but she’s loving it. He feels her tense around them - didn’t think it was possible, it takes his breath away - feels her slick up inside. “Yeah!” Sam yells, his voice hoarse, spiraling out. “Oh yeah!” He spasms against Dean like he’s going to come, but he doesn't, not quite. He’s still holding on somehow. Jess is slumped against his chest, and he’s holding her up, fucking her through her aftershocks with slow, rolling strokes, and Dean’s moving in counterpoint to him, helpless to do anything else, right there on the edge. Sam’s face is screwed up and his knuckles are white and he’s hissing out breaths through his teeth. “So close,” he whispers. “Give it to me, Dean, come on!”

  
Dean’s head is reeling and his vision is narrowing, and he wants to reach out for his brother, wants something in the world to hold onto. Then his bonds are melting away like they never existed, and his hand finds Sam’s. Their fingers intertwine, and he holds on tight, trying to keep from slipping away. But another pulse of his hips and the world’s going white. Sam clutches at his hand, holding on hard enough to make his bones creak. “Stay with me,” he whispers. “Come on, Dean, come for me.” And before Dean knows what’s happening, he’s spilling hot, and Sam tenses and moans, and they’re all mixed up together. This is the thing right here that should make him sick, that should shame him, but it’s too much right now, so he blacks out instead.

  
When he comes to, they’re all sprawled out on one tiny dorm bed, Jess passed out on his shoulder, Sam on his other side, his spent dick wet against his hip. “Gross, Sam,” he mutters. Not enough to make him move, though. He feels all boneless and content.

  
Sam doesn’t move either, but he looks up at Dean with his eyes heavy lidded. “Admit it,” he says. “You’ve always wanted to do that.”

 

Dean wakes up to find his shorts soaked through and Sam sitting on the next bed with his laptop, studying or some responsible shit like that. “You sleep well?” he asks, not looking up from the screen, and his voice is just strained enough for Dean to know that he knows.

  
“Yeah, great,” he says. The memory of the dream is fading, and all he knows for sure is that he came, hard, and he’s enjoying the aftereffects of a pretty good orgasm. He stretches, yawns. “You look tired, though, Sammy. I keep you up?”

  
“A little.” His face is all flushed and blood-filled, and the sight of it gives Dean a jolt in the stomach. He remembers more than he wants to. Finally, he feels sick.

  
He feels all the blood draining out of his face. “How much did you hear?” he asks.

  
“Nothing,” Sam says, too quickly. “I... I didn’t hear anything.” But they both know that’s a lie.

  
Dean buries his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, man. I swear, I don’t usually -” He swallows. “Look, if you want your own room, I’ll spring for it. We’re not kids anymore. We don’t gotta stick together for fear something’s gonna come in the night and -”

  
Sam waves it off. “I shared a room with you for eighteen years, Dean,” he says. “I can make it through one more weekend.”

  
“Oh. Yeah.” It’s not that he’d forgotten. It’s just that this is such a part of who he is that it’s hard to reconcile Sam leaving again so soon. It’s just that, before he busted into Sam’s dorm in the middle of the night, the silences in the Impala were starting to make him crazy, no matter how much music he played to drown it out. It’s just that he doesn’t think he can do this without him. He clears his throat. “Listen, Sam -”

  
But Sam stops him there. “It’s fine, Dean,” he says. “Really. We’ll have this wrapped up in a day or two, and then I’ll be out of your hair, and you can -” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just forget it, okay?”

  
“Yeah. Okay.” And as much as Dean hates doing this job alone, as much as he’s rationalizing to himself that the dream was more loneliness than anything, he’s just mortified enough to almost accept that they won’t be doing this much longer.


End file.
